


Ripples

by Thatkindghost



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, episode tag: season 1 episode 5 terror of the terrafirmians, magic Donald, mentions of the triplets - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-15 04:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12313788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkindghost/pseuds/Thatkindghost
Summary: Donald can sense magic.EDIT: added a finale for fun. Chapter 2 explores Donald's abilities more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi! It's very late and i thought this would be interesting to write, if not at all canon in any way shape or form ahaha  
> this was pretty much purely for fun! Hope you enjoy

At this point in his life, the only interaction he’s had with magic is his cousin Gladstone and dark muttering under Uncle Scrooge's breath. Gladstone, however, only seemed to get good luck and for the most part adults seemed to think it wasn’t magic, though Donald was sure it was. If you were to ask him why, he wouldn’t be able to tell you anything other than how it felt to stand next to him, like Gladstone was a thunderstorm and he was a lightning rod, vibrating with magic feedback. He can't recall a time where he didn't feel it. It seemed natural.

He’s sitting on his bed, Della is on hers, and they are enjoying each other's silent company. She’s studying for her upcoming math test and he’s flipping through a comic book when he groans, “Gladstone is here.” he announces, tossing his book aside as he feels the familiar buzz start in his fingertips.

She quirks a brow, “What makes you so sure?”

He frowns, “Can’t you tell?”

Opening her beak to respond, Della is interrupted as Gladstone throws open the door, announcing his presence. Della drops the subject in favor of humoring her cousin, but it sticks with Donald for the rest of the day. It had never occurred to him that the feeling he gets when Gladstone is near is not normal. He had never thought about the idea that no one else could feel him so acutely. He is creeping on the edge of a breakthrough, or as much of one as an eleven year old could muster, before he decides suddenly that manifesting these thoughts in a tangible way that meant that he would have to face what they meant.

He envisions himself putting a lock on the miasma in his chest, and he imagines himself locking it so tight it never bothers him again.

The next time he sees Gladstone, the feeling isn’t there.

When he is sixteen, he meets Magica and is almost driven to his knees in her presence. Her magic is so powerful it ripples through him in waves, washing over him in time with her heart beat, drowning him. She is nothing like Gladstone, who was a passive host. Her magic is like harnessed fire, and she is aggressive with it- bends it to her will, forces it to be whatever she needs, splintering it dangerously with each spell. She is dangerous and she is reckless, her own brother a fragmented version of his former self is proof enough of that.

The first time he meets her, whatever defenses he had up are wiped away by her sudden and overwhelming magic, and for a long moment he is dazed- unable to feel anything other than her suffocating darkness.

He senses a new ripple, one that’s disjointed from the rest and his blood screams DANGER! and throws himself sideways- he slams into Della, who runs into Scrooge. He shoves hard, sending them sprawling to the right and pushes himself backwards to the left, the ground where they once stood explodes. Della and Scrooge turn around to face their attacker and Donald follows suit, finally seeing her face. She’s scowling at him, furious that the element of surprise had been ripped from her.

“Magica De Spell!” Scrooge snarls, recognition flashing in his eyes, “Here to try and steal my number one dime again?”

“I don’t do try.” Magica snaps, “I’ll get that coin!”

She feels like a cartoon super villain, dressed in black and spouting ominous messages right before her attacks. Donald can almost imagine sinister piano music swelling as the two rivals throw verbal barbs. The altercation doesn’t last long after this, Magica’s bad planning leads her to hit a column holding the weight the entire cavern they had found themselves in, and as the ceiling began to fragment and crumble Donald felt her wink out of existence. He hadn’t realized how claustrophobic he’d been until she’d disappeared- teleported? That must be something her powers granted her, it was different than the other magic. It didn’t cause a ripple effect.

They manage to get out of the cave and Scrooge laments the loss of the treasure, only for Della to reveal she’d stowed the ancient disk in her jacket the moment things had started getting dicey.

“We should go, we don’t know if she’s still around here.” Della nods, throwing a glance over her shoulder as if Magic will appear there like some shoddy horror movie jump scare.

“She’s gone.” Donald is sure of it in the same way he was sure his cousin was at the door all those years ago, and the gaping emptiness she left in her wake is making him lightheaded.

Scrooge shakes his head, “Della is right, we can’t be sure-” Donald knows they can't be even though he is, “-and home sounds pretty good right now.”

So they leave, and Scrooge tells them how Magica had been after his number one dime to use in a spell to make her rich. They fall into more companionable camaraderie but Donald is distant, thinking about how he felt- what he felt. It came second nature- looking back, he’d always been able to tell where Gladstone was as long as he was somewhat close by- and he could… stop it? The lock he’d pictured before had put a damper on his abilities toward Gladstone who’s magic was so low in comparison to Magica's it almost made him laugh. The sorceress’s powers had overwhelmed his flimsy and childish lock.

He can sense magic.

Putting into words means he can't ignore it, anymore. He had to do something more permanent than a padlock, be that embracing it or figuring out a way to got rid of it completely.

“All that stuff Magic was doing- the magic. How’d she learn how?” He asks, turning away from the blue in front of them to ask his uncle.

Scrooge shakes his head, “I don’t know, born with it probably. She could have picked it up in her youth.”

“We can learn how to do magic?” Della asks over her shoulder, keeping her eyes on the sky.

“You have to have a natural affinity for it,” Scrooge explains. “Don’t go poking that bear, magic is not something to be trifled with- nothing good can come of it. You saw the destruction she caused today. Besides, it either of you had an knack for it, you’d have presented by now.” he dismisses.

Nothing good can come of it. Donald thinks of his uncle words over and over again over dinner, and decides he’s probably right. Instead of a lock this time, he builds a wall. Brick and mortar, piece by piece, until it’s airtight and sturdy. Magica won’t be able to knock this over- no one will.

When they find the Spear of Selene, after months of searching and searching, Donald's walls are perfectly built. He doesn’t feel a hint of magic, nothing coming from the spear made it to him. He can’t warn them.

He didn’t know.

Grief destroys him and hangs him out to dry. He’s is weak and raw and vunerable. His defenses crumble, and he doesn’t need to build them ever again. Whatever this ability was, whatever magic he had is gone. It has to be- because he tries to use it and it doesn’t answer his call. No matter how many times he begs for his sister back, their is only deafening silence. Nothing.

Not even a ripple.

The third time he feels it, he’s eating pancakes in McDuck manor. He would have never thought he’d be here again, especially not with the triplets in tow- but life has always been cruel to him, and a series of unfortunate happenstances landed him back under the same roof as his uncle. It’s going about as well as one could expect. The triplets, Webby, Launchpad, Beakley, and Webby's friend Lena had gone to a movie the night before and hadn’t come home. Donald had called Louie who’d updated him on the situation- Duckburg was hosting a ghost walk that night, where a tour guide walked a group of tourists around town and showed them houses that were said to be haunted.

Donald wasn’t quite sure he believed that, but Beakley hadn’t called to tell him otherwise and Louie hadn't sounded like he was in trouble… plus, he reasoned, with two adults with them, how much trouble could the children get in to?

The answer was a lot.

Donald had half a mind to scold Louie for lying as Dewey stands on the table demonstrating how Launchpad crashed their train while Huey showed off the drawing and logs he'd put into his junior woodchuck guidebook when the door from the kitchen opened and he froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

Webby noticed and smiled, “Oh, sorry I forgot to introduce you! Mr. Duck, this is my friend Lena.” Webby nodded, motioning to the young teen who’d just walked in carrying a plate stacked high with pancakes. She had the ends of her hair dyed pink, and she was radiating steady and constant magic so startlingly powerful Donald was shocked he hadn’t felt her sooner.

He blinks, drops his hand to the table and remeber his manner, “Hello Lena, it’s nice to meet you.” He smiles.

Lena leans back in her chair a little bit and nods while shooting Webby a look of confusion. Webby leans over and puts her hand to her mouth, whispering a hurried translation, “He said hello and that it’s nice to meet you.”

Nodding in earnest now Lena shoots him back a cool smile, “Any friend of Webbys is a friend of mine.” He gets the distinct impression she doesn’t mean that, but decides to go back to his pancakes rather than start a fight with a thirteen year old.

Her magic isn’t like Magicas- the realization hits him solidly in the chest. It didn’t flow from her, it didn’t pulse with her heartbeat. It was different, and he’s almost relieved. Her magic probably doesn’t pass through walls, which is why he hadn’t been able to sense her before- but if it doesn’t come from within, then where? A charm, maybe? A necklace? it may not pulls like Magicas but it feels like her aura, it feels cold. Lena smiles and laughs and eats and Donald is only aware of encroaching darkness, a looming danger.

He feels a tickle on the back of his neck and turns to face it. There’s nothing there, except a long shadow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote another chapter because I wanted to explore his magic more thanks  
> also i didn't proof read this super closely so i hope i didn't make too many mistakes

It starts because of Gladstone, like it always has.

The family has gone to visit him, much to Donald complaining and Scrooge’s reluctance, at whatever casino he’d plopped himself down in and was currently bleeding dry. The moment his cousin walked into a casino he ended up winning the biggest jackpot there through magic happenstance. Whatever poor casino he’d latched onto this time apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about keeping one supernaturally lucky Gladstone Gander out, and he was living it up. When he invited Uncle Scrooge to visit Donald was sure it was because he’d found out he was staying with him, and that he wanted to rub his heaping pile of winnings in Donald's face. They sort of had a rivalry going, though Donald had been caught up with raising Della's children the past few years and had kinda lapsed on his part.

Of course taking the children to a casino wasn’t Donald's first choice, but the other option would be to leave them alone at the manor, with lots of supernatural paraphernalia and lots of ways to get into trouble. So he reluctantly buckled them in and took them on the first ever trip to see their relative. Well, not first- he’d seen them when they were babies, before everything happened. He hung around a little after Della disappeared, but he despised hard work and Donald didn’t trust him with the kids (to be honest Donald hadn’t trusted anyone with the kids during that time, barely even himself) and they’d grown apart.

When he first saw Gladstone he was surprised at how he felt. Not like the muted buzz of their youth, but more akin to Magica's pulsing magic where it beat in time with his heart. It was stronger now, perhaps since he’d had time to unconsciously hone it, but still nothing close to her level. It gave the same weird feedback towards him it always did, though now he could adjust to the feeling quicker than he had as a child. Easy to tune out.

Of course, Gladstone went out of his way to be obnoxious. Bragging about his wins and how easy it was to hit jackpot. Louie was star struck, fawning over him and following him around like a lost puppy. Donald quickly found himself becoming victim to the green eyed monster, growing snappy towards his cousin, who was quick to lead them down to the casino area to show off his luck.

Donald fumed silently, wishing nothing more than for his luck to just stop, if only for a moment, as Gladstone pulled the lever of a slot machine. A ripple passed through the air as he did it. He won, of course, but he didn’t seem happy about it despite winning a sizable amount.

“What wrong lad?” Scrooge frowned, noticing Gladstone's face, “You won!”

“Yeah…” Gladstone said slowly, “But… I didn’t win the jackpot. Thanks a lot Donald.”

Donald frowned, affronted, “How is this my fault?”

“Only someone with monumental bad juju could cause my luck to fail,” Gladstone told him matter-of-factly, “Who gets stuck with all the bad luck? No one but Donald Duck.”

Gladstone was wrong, certainly, about that. Yes he did have awful luck, but he knew it wasn’t his luck that had caused Gladstone's own steady magic to falter. No it wasn’t his bad luck… but perhaps he did have a roll in it after all. He had hoped Gladstone's magic would fail him, and while he hadn’t completely lost, it obviously under performed. Was it possible..?

Donald decided he’d have to test it. A few slot machines after that first one, Donald focused again and imagined the ripples standing still as Gladstone played the game. The machine rippled, but it was definitely muted. Smothered. He won still, but just like last time it wasn’t the jackpot- it was even lower than the winnings from before.

Once was happenstance, twice is coincidence.

Trying to shake it off, Gladstone practically jumped to the next machine, reaching up to pull the lever. Donald shot his hand out to touch his shoulder and willed any magic in the area to stop, cold. Touching Gladstone was like touching the dryer while it was on, feeling the distant thrumming of inner machinations at work, and when Donald willed it to stop- Gladstone pulled the lever, and there was no ripple. The slot machine landed, and Gladstone didn’t win a dime.

Three times was a pattern.

Convinced it was Donald's own bad luck ruining his winning streak, Gladstone tried to keep a distance between them every time he gambled. Donald stopped trying to stifle him, instead focusing on what this meant for him. Like his cousin, he didn’t have conventional magic. Unlike Gladstone, he could actively control it. Spells didn’t work- none of the spells he’d tried when Della disappeared had any effect. In the long run it looked like his only ability was to dampen or completely stop someone else’s magic. He didn’t have a good grasp on it yet, and was already feeling the burn of messing with Gladstone's Magic after having just discovered his ability.

The night was far from over, and Gladstone's luck, which almost seemed to have a mind of its own, did not take too kindly to being messed with and retaliated. It was another wild adventure for clan McDuck, and after it was all finished all Donald wanted to do was go home and go to sleep, a sentiment shared by the rest of his family. Goodbyes were short and mixed with promises to see each other again that Donald wasn’t sure were empty or not. Launchpad flew them home.

Everyone slunk off to their rooms and passed out, catching a full night's rest after their roller coaster of a day.

The next day, Donald went out to job hunt but instead drove himself over to the money bin, waiting for the elevator so he could ride up to the archives. Uncle Scrooge's own personal collection was a library of Alexandria of sorts, with all sort of book ranging from all sorts of topics. Donald nodded to the woman working there as she dramatically introduced him to her floor of the bin and made a bee line for where he knew Scrooge kept his books on magic. It was a section all on it’s own, with a small table and a few chairs. This was the only section where any book you picked up had to stay there, or else an alarm went off when you tried to leave with it.

He bypasses all the books he knows won’t help him. He’d poured over a few of them with Della and Scrooge years ago, trying to study Magica and find out a better way to fight her. Instead he goes for those detailing different kinds of magic developed, and how powers manifest. He flips through several books with nothing about his situation and groans- it would be just his luck that he gets stuck with a type of magic never seen before, with no way to learn other than trial and error. It’s late by the time he works his way through the books he’d chosen so he puts them all back in their proper place and makes the arduous ride home.

He has dinner with his family, and watches a movie with his boys before it’s bedtime, and everyone trudges off to bed. Donald doesn’t bother, however, and comes back inside as silently as he can, heading in the direction of the garage.

Scrooge had long ago insulted the room with magic blockers, so any items with bad vibes wouldn’t leak their curses into the main house. Opening the door was like jumping into the arctic ocean, darkness and cold wrapped around him, brushing through his feathers like slimy fingers. He closes the door behind him and flicks on the overhead light, walking through the cluttered storage area slowly. He picks something small, something less likely to lash out when he picks at it like the Promethean Candle had on his disastrous birthday party. The Midas Gauntlet. Simple, clean, easy.

He sits on the ground, places the gauntlet on his hand, and reaches out to touch the pen he’d brought along with him. On the way down, he wills the magic granting it with it’s ability to abstain from doing it’s duty.

The tip of the glove touches the pen. It stays the same flimsy plastic as before.

The nightly visits become commonplace as he learns slowly how to expand his magic and use it in different ways, training himself slowly but surely to speak with authority to the very essence of magic itself. It was easier with magic that was used to being manipulated, like the Midas Gauntlet. It was harder with magic unfamiliar with being controlled, like Gladstone's luck. Now though, he’s sure he could stifle Gladstone's magic with relative ease.

He pushes himself more and more, moves up to bigger and bigger targets, until he trains himself to quiet the magic of every item in the garage all at the same time. He can’t stop it for long, but it’s not like his ability is really practical other than messing with Gladstone. The only person he’d ever fought that used magic was Magica De Spell, and well… she was gone.

Until she wasn’t.

He’s racing across the beach, the sun is setting, and the aftershocks of something so powerful drove him to his feet all the way across town in the Manor. There’s the crumbling old ruins of some theater that had quickly become the haunt for local teens and is currently the place where magic is overwhelmingly potent. The moment he’d felt something wrong, he’d received a call from Louie with lots of shouting before the line went dead. He knew, it his heart of hearts, that his children were in danger and that whatever this was would lead him right to them.

Scrooge, Beakley, and Launchpad are right on his heels- his own frantic fear had worried them, and despite questioning how he knew what was happening, they were eager to follow him on the off chance he was right and the children were in danger. He knows they can’t feel the waves like he can, but it doesn’t matter. He had to get there, had to face what was coming. The ocean is calm, the sky is splashes of orange and pink and red, and Donald is so cold his fingers are going numb.

He rounds the top of the theater, looks down, and sees chaos. The triplets have taken refuge behind one of the stone rows that made up the seats, Webby was standing, talking (screaming to be heard over the furious winds), and Lena was crouched in the arc of the theater, in the eye of the storm. Wind is swirling and howling around her as she chants so spell, she’s got an amulet around her throat that's glowing pinking purple so bright it’s almost blinking, and paper, glass bottles, and other debris is swirling at dangerous speeds through the air. Donald thinks he spots Louies phone in the mix, but ignores it for more pressing matters.

Webby seems like she’s trying to talk Lena down, perhaps- but it’s too late, and her harnessed power from the amulet is out of control. Donald tries for half a moment to clamp down on it, but it’s wild and fast and sharp as hell and it hurts so bad he almost falls to his knees. It’s like grabbing a knife by the blade. The amulet hums, ripples, and Webby falls to her hands and knees. Donald feels reality suspend itself, and watches the shadow in front of Lena explode out of the ground with long black arms. Bit by bit, the void drags itself up from the ground like a demon. In front of Lena is a simple doll with a pink dress that’s turning to ash as the spell continues.

Donald distantly recalls that Webby had gifted Lena her most prized possession as a show of friendship. A most prized possession was an incredibly powerful thing to have for a spell, it must have been part of it that was giving it so much power.

“Aunt Magica!” Lena gasps, as if shocked her own spell worked like it was supposed to.

The shadow stands and the wind stops, glass bottle and paper and sand rain from the sky under gravity's hold. The blackness fades, and standing once more in the land of the living is Magica De Spell, in all her dark and sinister glory. The doll is just a pile of dust, burned up from the magic. Webby is unconscious. Most prized possessions are linked to you, it's your heart that gives it power. Using like this was not kind to her. The magic drowning him, the magic so strong he could feel it across town, dwindles into something familiar. It’s still powerful, but Magicas own abilities are limited compared to the reality shattering power he’d just felt.

Donald practically leaps down the stairs. Magica has to take a moment to adjust, he has to get Webby and the kids away from her before she can get her bearings. Lena is standing off to the side, the amulet in pieces by her feet, looking horrified at Webby's prone form. Donald did not blame Lena. She was just a child, lost and alone. He would have done anything to get back his sister the day she disappeared, how could he condemn her for going after seemingly the one relative she had left?

He goes to Webby first, about to gather her into his arms- but Magica has recovered faster than he anticipated.

“Clan McDuck!” she snarls, glaring at him with fire in her eyes, “I’ve had enough of you getting in my way!”

She raises her hands, the magic sparking at her fingertips, ready to be used, and smiles at him darkly as she forms a ball of lightning. He is filled, suddenly, with unrelenting and vicious rage. She is always there, always attacking his family, always trying so hard to hurt them (and now… now she’d gotten her claws on Webby, who didn’t deserve any of it-) and he stands, steps in front of Webby to protect her, and vibrates with anger. Magica throws her lightning, Scrooge yells his name and the triplets cry out for him.

For the first time in his life, the magic ripples around him. Her magic ripples around him. He’s always been able to control the magic other gave off, but never before has he been able to cause his own waves. He holds up his hand and the lightning ball strikes his palm-

And he catches it.

It’s jittery and hard to hold, but he holds it. It doesn’t burn, it doesn’t hurt in anyway. He thrusts his hands up and out for her to see her own magic obeying the will of another, then in a blink of an eye makes it disappear. Magicas eyes are as big as basketballs and she’s staring at him, open mouthed, trying to decipher what just happened. He’s sure everyone else is too, but he doesn’t have time to check.

“What?” she finally cries, reeling back in shock.

“You’re not the only one who’s got a few tricks up their sleeve.” He snarls.

Her face turns cold, “You were lucky once, but you won’t be again!” She shouts, raising her hands one more and producing another ball of lightning.

“I won’t need to.” He says confidently, holding up a hand toward her as he commands “Stop.”

The ball dies in her hands. He reaches out and clams over her magic so tight she won’t be able to cast a thing. She stares down at her hands in horror, trying and failing to conjure up her power. He steps away and scoops Webby up, unsure how long he’ll be able to hold her considering he was already starting to feel the strain, and Races up the theater after ushering the triplets up before him.

“Stop! Wait! What have you done to me?” Magica wails, “Have you cursed me forever?”

He doesn’t respond, handing Webby to Beakley and ushering the rest of the family to go to. “I can’t hold her for much longer,” Donald hisses when he sees Scrooge start to protest about how now was the time to take her down, “And Webby can’t wait.” he adds, noticing how that shuts Scrooge up right away.

They pile into the limousine, Launchpad leaps into the driver's seat, and they peel away from the scene. His control is slipping and he falls out of his seat to the floorboard, squeezing his eyes shut and plugging his ears so he could focus solely on holding her for just a moment longer- just until they were in the clear-

Two blocks away his control snaps and everything goes black.

He wakes up to a lot of questions, and the reveal that he’d been asleep for almost two days. Webby had woken up after one, a little worse for wear but with no lasting problems. She’d visited him when he woke up with deep bags under her eyes and an apology on her beak (he insisted she didn’t need to apologize for anything, considering she’d done nothing wrong.) Scrooge chews him out for not telling him what he could do when he’d first discovered it. The triplets gush about how cool he had been in that moment he caught the lightning. Later Huey tells him how scared they’d all been when he passed out, and how Uncle Scrooge stayed by his side the whole time.

Things weren’t the same, after that. Of course they weren’t- Magica was back, Donald had found a new ability to explore (yes he could stop others magic, but that moment in the theater he’d been able to harness her magic for himself,) and they had to be ready to deal with what these things meant. Magica would come back, and she knew his abilities now- she could defend against them, which meant he’d have to train even harder to get to her level. This also meant the triplets couldn’t go out on the town like they had been, they needed a chaperone at all times in case she tried to ambush them.

It was the start of something new with a familiar flavor from his time with Della (when it was just the three of them against Magica and whatever else had been thrown their way.)

A part of him is scared and worried. Worried about not being good enough, worried about losing everything.

Another part of him, the strongest part, knew that with his family at his side- they could take on the world and then some.


End file.
